24 Notes
by Daydreamr4ever
Summary: John Watson is getting over his best friend's death, when he begins receiving a strange string of notes from an uncatchable stranger. Spoilers if you haven't seen the Season 2 finale. 24 short chapters. Rated T for possible violence later on.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I've been a horrible person to keep you guys waiting so long, and for that, I am sorry. I'm kinda obsessing over Psych right now… and this Fanfic is about Sherlock… Huh. Anyway, I had this awesome idea for a 24-part series. As you can tell from the title, there will be 24 notes, hence the 24 very short chapters! I haven't forgotten about Change- in fact, it's on my desktop, glaring at me as I type… Yikes. Anyway, I had to get this out there before I continued with Change, because I think y'all deserve something right in the feels :) And a story other than Baby Daddy or Melissa and Joey.**

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

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_February 21st_

John trudged up the steps to his flat in 221B Baker Street with obvious reluctance, and heaviness in each step. Upon opening the door, he found himself staring at the same scene as he had been for the past two years, the yellow smiley face on the wall, the skull on the mantle, and Sherlock's violin in the corner.

If one were to do a closer inspection, though, one would find that the refrigerator was now stocked with fruit, vegetables, and other groceries, instead of strange experiments and body parts. The kitchen counters were clear of microscopes and other forensics items- John had given some to the police, and shoved the rest into Sherlock's room quickly- trying to rid himself of the now-painful memories of the things that once were part of his daily life. The desks were now littered with paperwork from the hospital awaiting John's signature as opposed to the case files Sherlock used to work on. But Sherlock was dead, and the cases were gone.

A month after Sherlock's death, John managed to find the willpower to drag himself out of the flat and apply for a job at the hospital, and- to his surprise- be accepted back into the world of healers. If only they could heal his heart.

Sherlock's room was locked- the key stored under the skull- and John tried to avoid looking at it as much as possible ('It' being the room- though John averted his eyes from the skull as well.). He hadn't the heart to put away Sherlock's violin though, and it proceeded to haunt him to no end. The past three months had been pure torture, and John had had enough.

As John turned to close the door, a tiny note that had been placed on top of the door fluttered to the ground. John stooped to pick it up.

_John,_ Was all it said in classic typewriter letters. He turned it over, and found it blank. The sticky note had nothing on the sticky part to give John any clue as to where it came from, and, upon sniffing it (as- with a pang- he felt Sherlock would have done), learned that the words came off of an actual typewriter.

For days, he was distracted and taunted by that note, and could not figure out anything about it, besides the fact that someone had the key to 221B Baker Street, and knew which flat was his. That was it.

After a week had gone by, he decided to forget about it- someone was obviously trying to scare him. He threw himself into work, and the note sat forgotten on the coffe table. He figured that was all it was. A note.

However, it was only just beginning.

* * *

**Ooooh, John got his first note! More to come!**

**I know there's not a lot, but what do you think so far? Comment! Follow! Favorite! It would be much appreciated :)**

**Question: How should you behave around a fangirl who has obviously just watched the season 2 finale of Sherlock? (There are wrong answers to this question ;))**

**BYENOW!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I think-slash-hope this will become a daily, or every-other-day thing, since these drabbles are so short. I already have a 24-word-outline all set up :) Not much else to say, I hope you enjoyed the last chapter (And just a shout-out to daisycooper- that is so, so true! Great answer!) As usual, the daily question will be at the bottom. Please review and such! **

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

_March 21st_

John rubbed his eyes, yawning as he climbed the steps to his flat, as he did every day. His shift that day had simply exhausted him. He was so tired, in fact, that he almost didn't catch sight of the sticky note that fluttered to the floor as soon as he pushed open the door. Startled, he snatched it up off of the floor and read it anxiously.

_Notice _was the only word printed on it, in the same typewriter form as before. John scratched his head. It had been exactly one month since he had received that strange other note, the one that simply said _John,_ . Was someone trying to mess with him? That was the exact opposite of what he needed right then and there.

A fleeting thought raced across his brain, one he pushed away almost immediately. It would be impossible. It couldn't be...

Two days later, he still hadn't figured anything out. John scowled at the piece of paper, which was quickly becoming the reason for 90 percent of his anxiety. Where was it from? Who wrote it? Why were they writing it? He couldn't go to the police- although his name had been cleared, they probably wouldn't help him anyway, even after all they'd been through together. So he was left to ponder, glare, and shake his head in frustration at this new note.

John left the new sticky not on the coffee table beside the first one, shaking his head at whatever strange phenomenon this was. Someone was trying to scare him, most likely and John wouldn't let that happen. He'd been in Afghanistan- he'd seen the worst. A couple of sticky notes meant nothing.

Yet.

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**I told you- these chapters are wicked short. **

**Question: Cookies 'n' Cream ice cream or Cookie Dough ice cream? Sound off in your reviews below!**

**BYENOW!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: See? I told you it would be every day! This one's a little longer ;) AND there's actual dialogue! AND AND I edited it! You're welcome. I love you guys a lot. **

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

_April 21st_

John woke that day, anticipation running through his veins as he prepared for work. Would he receive another note from this mysterious stranger? He hoped so. He hoped that he could figure out who it was.

Then again, he also hoped that he would wake up one day to Sherlock shooting the wall. Unfortunately, that could never happen, so Watson kept his hopes relatively low as he put on his hat and headed out to work.

"Dr. Watson!" John turned at the sound of his voice. A pretty brunette girl was hurrying toward him, umbrella in hand. Molly.

"Oh, hello, Molly. I'm terribly sorry- I'm just about to head off to work, you see." John shifted uncomfortably as he spoke, but Molly didn't seem to notice.

"It's fine. I was in the neighborhood, and thought I would say hello." She nodded at her words. "How... How are you?" She asked carefully, as if John would break if she asked it any other way.

"I'm fi-" He cut himself off. He wasn't fine. "I'm coping. It's been hard." He admitted. Molly nodded, pressing her lips together, and John remembered how she felt about Sherlock. "And you?"

"Same. Coping." She took a deep breath, as if to steady herself.

"Molly, I do have to leave now, but would you like to come over for tea later today?" He felt awkward inviting her over, and Molly's eyes reflected that discomfort, but she nodded anyway.

"Sure- though I might need something a little stronger than tea." She smiled humorlessly at her joke, and John did the same. They were just acting the parts expected of them- empty husks of people, going on living because they didn't know what else to do.

"Alright then. I'll text you then. Bye, Molly." He hailed a cab, and nodded to her before getting in and going back to do what he did best. Heal others.

That afternoon, he pushed open the door with his phone in hand, completely engrossed in his screen, and didn't notice the note that drifted to the floor beside him as he texted Molly to come on over. It was only after he put the kettle on that he stepped back into the living room and saw the yellow note, patiently waiting on the floor for him to read.

_Everything._ He furrowed his brow at the third cryptic message. Everything what?

He set it down next to the other two, about to walk away before he did a double take.

_John, _

_Notice Everything._

Was it supposed to be a letter? The kettle gave off it's typical shrill scream, but John didn't move. It was a letter of some sort. Someone didn't want him to forget the observation skills Sherlock taught him. But _why?_

The kettle persisted it's screaming, and John sighed and turned to take it off the heat. But the message stayed in his mind. _Notice Everything. Notice. Everything._

There was a knock on the door, presumably Molly. John realized the sticky notes were in plain sight, and he leapt at them, snatching them off of the coffee table. He turned in a circle, looking for a place to hide them.

"Just a moment!" He called, and the knocking stopped. He ended up shoving them under Sherlock's violin case, before opening the door.

"Hello again, Molly. How are you?"

* * *

**So, that's that! No, John was not hitting on Molly, btw.**

**Question of the day: Are any of you psychopaths- I mean, high-functioning sociopaths? Sadly, I am not.**

**Don't forget to review (Non-members, you know you're allowed to review, too, right?)!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: You guys really must hate me, don't you? I'm just not good with publishing on time because of things. Like sleeping ^-^ And finding Churro Waffle recipes (seriously delicious- it's like heaven, but in food form). Anywho, Here's the fourth chapter! Oh, and I haven't abandoned Change, I've just been focusing on another writing piece I'm doing- I'll tell you all about it after this chapter! **

**Here is the (not in the slightest)long-awaited chapter four!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

May 21st

John wondered if there would be another letter from this stranger soon. In the past three months, the wondering about who on earth was sending him the letters was actually taking his mind off of Sherlock. Temporarily. But he always came back around to it eventually.

He opened the door, and sure enough, a pale yellow sticky not fell from the top- this time John caught it.

_Get_ was this month's word. John rubbed his forehead in exasperation. It had been _four months_ since this thing started- when would it end? Why couldn't this stranger just give him a straight up letter?

"What is this?" He growled at the piece of paper. It did not reply.

Just then, his phone gave out a little _ping_, jerking the ex-army doctor out of his ponderings. It was a text from a... blocked number?

_A warning._ That was all the text said.

"Get a warning? What?" John shook his was too much. His best friend died almost a year ago, and now he was dealing with cryptic sticky notes. Not cool.

His phone pinged again. _No, you numbskull. The sticky notes are a warning. Do not expect any more "hints". This is too dangerous._

John blinked in pure and utter shock, and that fleeting thought, the one he had pushed out of his head for so long came to surface, bold and clear and so, _so_ painful.

SHERLOCK. It had to be. It couldn't be anyone else. But _how?_

John tapped on his contacts and scrolled through them until he found Molly's number, and dialed.

"Molly speaking." The voice answered nonchalantly.

"Molly, it's John. I have a few questions."

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**What did ya think?**

**Question: Who knows what the NEYWC (New England Young Writer's Conference) is? Don't go and google it, I'm just curious :P**

**Those who Googled it anyway, or already know (good on ya!), I'm applying, and my one-page submission is due tomorrow and it's not even close to finished. *Sigh*. Anyone else's school applying?**

**Don't forget to review ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello lovely people of the FanFiction world! I just spent two hours watching Vlogbrothers! Don't know why I told you that… Whatever. Anyway, This is the point where I'd usually thank everyone for the response this story has gotten… But it hasn't really gotten any response- probably because I'm bad at updating on time… But I still love you guys and feel guilty when I don't publish on time. I will, however, thank you for the response on my one-shot story, Fist-Bump (Also Sherlock if you haven't read it.). So… THANKS! I'll try to upload more often… but bad writer that I am, you're getting these drabbles the second I write them. Literally, I type them out, scan over them for errors (sometimes… okay rarely…) and copy and paste 'em over to here! I should probably be like most longfic writers and get ahead before I publish, but I'm special and apparently have an inability to do that.**

**ANYWAY Review! Feel free to answer the question at the end! Share with your friends, enemies, dog, cat, fish and chocolate milk because I have ADD and like cooking :3**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

June 21st

The summer solstice. And six months since Sherlock fell. **(My story, my timeline. Deal with it.) **Last month, he had tried to ask Molly more about Sherlock's death, but she evaded his questions and hung up quickly. He did not try to call her back, as he had a new task at hand, which was the difficult action entering Sherlock's room.

Why?

Because he needed that tiny little camera from six months ago, the one Sherlock had found behind a book. He had a new use for it. An important one.

John slowly forced his legs to take him to Sherlock's old room. With badly shaking hands, he felt along the top of the doorframe for the key, wincing as his fingers brushed the cold metal. He couldn't believe that he was this reluctant and shaken by simply enter in a room, and realized that Sherlock's death had affected him more deeply than even he could imagine.

He somehow managed to fit the key into the lock and push the door open.

Said door creaked eerily as it swung open, revealing all of its contents to John. There were stacks of paper on the ground, odds and ends tossed carelessly onto dressers and bookshelves, and a neatly made bed in the corner, sheets and blanket army tight, courtesy of John. He felt compelled to make Sherlock's bed, as though his best friend would come back and throw himself onto it and begin to complain about the boredom of normal life, like nothing had happened. Sherlock's microscope was set in a folding table in the corner, along with some of his books and other things that made John's heart twist when he saw them in the living room, so badly that he had to hide them from even himself.

The camera in question was on the dresser next to Sherlock's scarf and "ear hat". He took a shuddering breath, trying to distance himself from the pain these physical memories inflicted. He snatched up the tiny camera and rushed out, slamming the door behind him with a _bang_.

He tapped on the little lens and headed over to the laptop, opening up the software Sherlock had used before to make sure the little spying device was on. It was.

John nodded to himself in an assured way, and made his way over to the door, ready to set up the camera in the ceiling corner closest to his door.

However, when he opened his door, a sticky note fluttered down, almost mockingly, as if to say "You couldn't catch me if you wanted to."

Actually, the note said _Rid_

"Rid? Are you serious?" John asked the note. "What should I "get rid? of? That stupid skull?" He glanced at the skull, which was grinning at him, creepy as always. "Gladly." He muttered under his breath.

Of course, he didn't get rid of the skull. And it paid off in the end.

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**So? So? Whaddayathink?**

**Question: Who thought they were excited for winter and then was standing outside in the frigging freezing coldand realized that they really miss summer? Anyone? *raises hand* Maybe it's just me. LET'S FIND OUT IN YOUR REVIEWS SERIOUSLY I DON'T WANT TO BE THE ONLY ONE, BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE WEIRD.**

**BYENOW**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm just gonna stop apologizing for publishing late by stop saying when I'll post, and we'll all be happier. Well, I'll be happier, and you'll be more anxious, but still… I'll be less guilty :) This is another short one, but that's all these are: drabbles. (My laptop keeps correcting drabbles to dribbles… awkward) Most people spend their Saturday nights partying… I spent mine writing… Be proud of my social life… not.**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

July 21st

It was _hot_. As in, record-breaking, air-conditioning, people dying of heat stroke hot.

John fanned himself in the chair by the window, wondering how the hell people were outside in this heat. He could hardly bear to move his sweaty self to stand in front of the refrigerator to cool off, let alone go outside.

So he didn't open the door that day.

July 22nd

There was a knock on the door. Then scampering steps, the noise fading quickly. John groaned and forced himself to get up, not bothering to check for sweat stains that he already knew were there. His legs made sticky noises as he lifted himself from the leather couch, and he mentally winced at all of the energy it took to simply move on a day like today. How could people in the equator stand this?

A slightly wilted sticky note dropped to the ground in a depressed way, like it too hated the heat. John snatched it up before it even touched the ground. He was more surprised than frustrated that he had forgotten to check for a note. He should have put up the camera! He glanced at the note. _Of_

It was taking three plus months for the stranger to tell him what to get rid of?

He let out a frustrated growl, but gave up abruptly, tossing the note on the sun-and-air warmed coffee table, where he thought he could hear a splat. Defeatedly, he tossed himself back onto the couch, promising himself that he would begin to care again soon... well, as soon as it cooled down.

* * *

**I miss summer, obviously.**

**Question: What's your favorite fandom to be a part of? (I know, it's like trying to choose a favorite child, but you know you have one!)**

**BYENOW!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello, there! Here is a slightly longer chapter than last time, I hope you enjoy it! Not much else to say. This is more of a filler chapter, but he still gets a note, no worries. Question down below!**

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

August 21st.

The camera had been set up days before. John had taken the day off, staring at the computer screen, displaying the still staircase, the only motion made by Mrs. Hudson. He himself peered out the door multiple times. Nothing. All day. He paced around the apartment, only taking quick bathroom breaks, and after those, he would rewind the tape and watch the few minutes he missed from the doorframe, so he wouldn't miss anything. He stayed up until well past one a.m.

August 22nd

John yawned as he rolled out of bed, turning off his alarm. That day had been such a waste. As he stepped out of the apartment, he glanced at the stupid camera, staring at him blankly. In a blind rage, he jumped up (**Hehehe, he had to jump 'cuz he's little ^-^)** snatched the wireless camera down, throwing it into the apartment before slamming the door shut.

At that noise, little Mrs. Hudson scuttled out of her flat.

"Is everything alright dear?" She asked in her high-pitched voice as John stomped down the stairs furiously.

"No. I-I just need to get to work." He took a steadying breath before turning to Mrs. Hudson. "I'm sorry. I'm fine. I'll see you later." He patted the old woman's shoulder, before he turned around and headed out.

To his surprise, he felt something land on his head as he stepped out. Fearing it was a "gift" from a passing bird, he made a face as he slowly reached up to remove... as sticky note?

As soon as his fingers brushed the paper, he snatched at it eagerly and read the single, neatly typed word on the page.

_The_

"Seriously?" He asked no one in particular, earning strange looks from strangers. As he hailed a taxi, his phone buzzed once, signaling a text, and as soon as he hopped in, glanced at it.

The ID read Unknown, and the text simply said _Yes, seriously. Patience._

John exasperatedly slammed his head against the headrest, now earning a weird glance from the cabbie in the rearview mirror.

"Forget it." John muttered, shoving the note in his pocket. Patience wasn't his mojo. It wasn't Sherlock's either. But Sherlcok would have figured it out by now...

"Nope, nope, nope. Happy place, no Sherlock." He thought in his head. He'd Figure it out himself, his own way.

* * *

**For those of you who were wondering, so far, the notes say: John, Notice Everything. Get Rid Of The**

**SPOILER ALERT TO THIS STORY: The notes are going to being coming to him in the story sooner and at different intervals, but you're still only getting one note per chapter, my minions. *rubs hands together evilly* Sorry John. I'm so mean to this dude. (John: But… I'm already so confused. Wait, who are you?) See what I mean?**

**Question: Is there anything better than warm chocolate cookies while watching a non-tear inducing episode of Doctor Who or Sherlock? (Hint: NO.)**

**BYENOW!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello, my lovely readers! Wow, chapter eight! Only sixteen chapters left! Haha… haha… this is gonna take a while. But that's aside the point! The point is, this is a long chapter with important word things and such. Oh, and a drunk John at the end. And by drunk, I mean completely and utterly ****_wasted_****. It was fun to write :) I myself have never been wasted, but I just wanted a funny little scene in here, so obviously this isn't accurate to drunkenness at all, so don't go telling me in the reviews that this is all wrong and such. I wrote it for FUN. Also, MARY HAS ARRIVED ON THE SCENE! Hehe :)**

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

September 1st

John strolled down the street, on his way down to the pub. It had been one of those wonderful days, where nothing specifically poignant or moving had happened, but all things that should have gone wrong went right. It was sunny, birds were chirping, and the warmth of the summer was still in the air, reluctant to go away.

The sound of laughter, television, and clinking glasses greeted the doctor (not The Doctor) as he entered the pub and made his way over to the bar.

"I'll have a scotch rocks, please? And some chips." he added as an afterthought. He turned his attention to the telly, and watched the football game for a while, sipping his drink and munching on his chips, until he heard a voice next to him.

"I'll have the strongest drink you got." The voice was enchanting, melodical, and pretty, and John found himself turning to the side to see a face that matched the voice, although said face looked extremely exhausted.

"Bad day?" He asked the girl, who started, as if she hadn't noticed him there.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah, you could say that. I'm Mary." She stuck her hand out politely.

"John." He shook it. Just then, the barkeep handed Mary a strange-looking concoction in a tall glass. "Are you sure you want to drink that? It looks..." He trailed off, trying to find a descriptive word for the oddly-colored, fizzing drink. Mary stared at it warily, but reached out and pulled the drink closer anyway. The murky liquid appeared to have chunks of… well, John couldn't make out exactly what, which made it seem all the more deadly.

"Dangerous?" She supplied, and he nodded, chuckling. She laughed as well. "I need it. Wish me luck." She held up her drink, crossed herself, earning another laugh from John, and took a tentative sip.

She immediately spat it out, spraying it all over the bar space right in front of her, coughing and gagging loudly. "That was... The _worst_.. drink ever!" She coughed out. John couldn't help but break out into laughter, thumping her on the back until she too, was laughing more than she was coughing. They just kept laughing, not caring about the annoyed looks they go from other customers. Every time one of them had thought they had pulled themselves together, they would look at each other and begin hysterically laughing again.

The barkeep took notice of the situation, and wiped off the counter without a word before tending to other mid-afternoon drinkers in the room.

The pair continued laughing like hyenas for quite a while. John finally collected himself and remembered to breathe between bouts of heavy laughter before adding "Shouldn't you have asked what was in the drink before drinking it?"

"I don't need to ask- I know! They just dumped whatever was in the bin into my cup!" She cried, shoving away the glass and it's strange contents, still giggling.

"Here, wash the taste out." John offered her his drink, and she gratefully took it, gluping down a few sips hastily.

"Thanks, John." She smiled, calmer now.

They talked and talked and drank (safer drinks) and drank until John realized he was going to be late for dinner with Mrs. Hudson and her friends. (He had been in a sleepy haze when he agreed to her offer as he walked out the door.)

"Oh, god, I'm sorry, Mary, I have to go- I'm having dinner with my landlady and her friends." He looked through his wallet for his credit card.

"Anyone I should be jealous of?" She asked playfully. John bolted upright, his eyes wide. She laughed. "Joking, joking." She reassured him.

"Ah, yes- I mean, no, no one to be jealous of, Mrs. Hudson is about seventy years old." He chuckled, and Mary grinned at him.

"Alright then. Oh! One second." She whipped out a pen from her purse and scribbled something down on a napkin. "Here is my number, in case you want to get in touch soon." She smiled sweetly as she handed it to him. John smiled, feeling his neck turn red, and probably his ears as well.

"Ah, yes, I will, ehm, nice meeting you, good-bye!" He stammered, waved, and hurried out the door, hailing a taxi while smiling at himself, thinking: _I got her number_.

Later that night, an very drunk John Watson half fell into his apartment, completely exhausted from that day. Dinner with the older women had been surprisingly amusing, but that may have been because he had too much wine. and he'd drunken far too much at the bar.

Now, in his blurry vision, he notices one-or two?- sticky note(s) fall from the heavens. He looked the ceiling suspicously. "Now look, God." He slurred. "If you're gonna give me a ticket, you're gonna... you're gonna... uh... I'll tell you later." He nodded at the plaster roof above his head before remembering the note on the floor. "OOH a present from Heaven!" He exclaimed, already forgetting his conversation with God.

This note read _Assassins_, which took John five minutes to figure out. "Why is it so hard to read? WHAT ARE THEY TELLING ME?" He asked the gods, but got no answer.

"A... Assassins? Where?" He demanded at the note. He whipped around in a circle and saw the smiley face on the wall. "YOU!"

He marched over to the yellow smiley face. "Why are you always watching me? Are you trying to kill me?" He peered closer at the face. "Well, just remember, I've got my eye on you." He grumbled at it, before stalking over to the couch, and falling on it, sound asleep.

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**Wasn't that fun? Try and tell me that wasn't fun.**

**Question: Why is everyone (in America- sorry my lovely readers in other countries- I love you all!) obsessing over Christmas even though we still have a week before THANKSGIVING? Seriously, the commercialism is killing my thankfulness vibe.**

**BYENOW!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Pshhh I didn't forget to post for a week straight or anything… . Sorry about that. I'm a Gemini, so apparently I'm a procrastinator, or so the stars tell me. Anyway, I don't know about you guys, but I loved drunk John. In the show he's always so serious, and I liked writing about him being silly for at least five minutes. Let me know what you thought? Please? Seriously, I'd love constructive criticism (as long as you aren't ****_too_**** mean. I'm a delicate soul). And yeah, this chapter is a short one. So very sorry. BUT I think you'll enjoy it anyway. I tried to put imagery and such into it.**

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

September 3rd

"Okay, then. Yeah, I'll see you real soon. Okay, bye." John hung up as he trotted up the stairs, smiling at himself cheerily. After his hangover had passed, and he could think clearly again, he couldn't resist calling up Mary right away to see if she wanted to grab coffee that day. To his pleasant surprise, she said yes. He was rather excited to go on his first date- well, not an _actual _date, more like an outing- with someone new since Sherlock fell. And died.

That was just the kind of pick-me-up he needed, and he could feel himself going back into a somewhat normal way of life as he opened the door to his flat..

And, of course, caught sight of a note falling from the top of the door. He sighed in a defeated way as he snatched the pale yellow note out of the air, the paper making a faint crinkling noise as he did so.

_(Next _was the new word, neatly typed on that obnoxious typewriter.

_Wait..._ John paused, thinking to himself. It was the third. Of September. He wasn't supposed to get another note for nineteen days. As excited as he was to learn what he had to get rid of, he'd never gotten a note that wasn't on the 21st of a month.

He shook his head, as if trying to clear all of the thoughts that had turned into sticky notes, stuck to his mind. He was about to go on a (not really a date)date for goodness sake! He cleaned up before he left, gathering all of his clothes in a laundry basket to deal with later. He picked up a pair of jeans that lay crumpled on the floor like a forgotten dishtowel, feeling around in the pockets for change he may have forgotten before he would toss it in the basket. He felt a slightly wrinkled pice of paper in a pocket, and pulled it out, expecting to see his hand clutching a dollar bill, not another sticky note.

His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to remember getting another note, but all he could remember was in August when he got the one that said _rid_. There were no other instances, except...

"Of _course!_" He exclaimed out loud, slamming his fist on the blue wallpapered wall. Two nights ago, the night he'd gotten so wasted he passed out on the couch somehow, that must have been the night he got the note.

"Assassins..." He murmured. His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach, like Sherlock plummeting from that building. They were still there. The assassins were still next door.

* * *

**I'm so mean to you guys. But I'm not too sorry about it, since you're still reading.**

**UPDATE: I just got asked by _alone on the water_ (Shout out :)) what we have now for words. They are: _John, Notice everything. Get rid of the _****_assassins (Next_**

**And that's it. Clever John figured out the next word though, so now he's one step ahead of the game.**

**QUESTION: What do you think of the story? Because I don't want to write much more if no one likes it. Yeah, it sounds insecure, but I have other stuff I wanna post, but I really would like to finish this one way or the other before that happens! So let me know in the reviews! (Yes, non-members, I'm talking to you.)**

**BYENOW!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Well, hello there everyone! Wow, chapter 10! I'm so pleasantly surprised with the response this story has gotten! I've never thought people would like what I write and I know people usually save this for the last chapter, but you know me, I get mushy and say thank you at times like this. So thank you. Thanks for your reviews, and your follows and faves and all of those things that make authors like me so happy!**

**This isn't totally canon but I needed this chapter, so I'm sorry.**

**Enjoy anyway!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

September 4th

John couldn't stop grinning. He couldn't. He fell asleep the former night grinning, and awoke this morning with the same expression taking up his features. After a successful coffee almost-date, John asked her on a real date before realizing how desprate he sounded. Mary either didn't notice or didn't care and said yes right away.

All thoughts of neighboring assassins flew from his mind... until, of course, he saw the notes he had begun taping to a piece of cardboard. The cardboard in question was leaning against the wall, almost mocking John, daring him to come over and try to deduce them. There were only nine so far. He pressed a hand, suddenly weary.

He dressed and prepared for work, and was about to leave- when something in the back of his mind clicked. He knew how to get rid of the remaining assassins- well, he thought he knew. It was a very risky idea. What if this mysterious note sender really was pulling a trick on him?

There was only one way to find out. John swallowed the panic that was slowly rising in his throat as he decided what to do. He opened the living room door to head outside, when another sticky note landed on the floor. He glanced at it without picking it up.

_door)._ Is what it read. "Oh gee, thanks." He said sarcastically to it. He closed the door and forced his feet to move, one step at a time. He made it to the street and stood there for two full minutes, which felt like an eternity and a half, pretending to wait for a taxi. After mentally crossing himself, he saw the perfect opportunity...

And ran right into the street in front of an oncoming bus. His heart was pumping so fast, he feared that it would stop before the bus would even hit him, or that he-

But he never knew what else might have happened because he felt something slam into his side and knock him down as the bus roared past, horn blaring.

"What's the matter with you?!" A bald man shouted in John's ear, helping the good doctor up.

"I... ah... thank you." He stuck his hand out to shake the stranger's. Maybe he wasn't an assassin.

"You're welcome. I'm Tom." The heavily built, tattooed bald guy shook his hand back.

"Well, Tom, as I said, thank you again and I-" Once again, John was cut off as three loud blasts rang out, and Tom dropped to the ground, eyes unseeing, and scarlet blood quickly staining the white t-shirt he was wearing. "Oh god, Oh god, _dear god_ not again, no!" John bit his index finger as people swarmed, gawking and gasping and pointing. Several people were already calling the police and the ambulance, and trying to get John away. "No... I'm a doctor, I can help..." He murmured, although his eyes were about as distant and dead as Tom's.

It wasn't the death itself that shocked him- he'd seen plenty of that. It was the fact that they were still there. The assassins still wanted him, and Moriaty's men were still watching. It was far from over.

* * *

**… Yup.**

**QUESTION: Do you like baking? Because I absolutely love baking desserts. The longer it takes to make, the more fun it is… unless it involves mixing peanut butter with anything. Then… no...**

**BYENOW!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry I've been a bit lazy, I've been obsessively watching Supernatural, and I recently just got a Tumblr, so it's safe to say that I've been scrolling through miles of GIFS and fandoms and feels and the like. I haven't actually posted anything on my Tumblr yet (still figuring out things) but if you want to follow me anyway, I'm posting it on my profile :) Anyway, here's the new chapter!**

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

September 21st

John hadn't heard from the mysterious note sender in what felt like weeks, and was getting more and more anxious by the hour.

His past couple dates with Mary took his mind off of things for a little while at least. He was growing to like her more and more. She was funny and easygoing, and didn't question why he used to be flatmates with Sherlock. It had been one of the first things he mentioned on their coffee date, and she just nodded and they kept talking, one of them secretly relieved and the other totally oblivious.

Their most recent coffee date had gone a little something like this:

"But really, John, you should have seen their faces when we drizzled the syrup over them!" She laughed at the memory she had been describing, not caring how loud her giggle was. Her face and hands were animated as she described it, and there was a lively light in her eyes, something that told John that this girl could see the best in everything and everyone- even him somehow.

"They actually let you make them into human ice cream sundaes because you beat them in a _Jello _Tug-of-War?" He laughed as he pictured these two bulky guys Mary was describing sitting in kiddie pools, covered in whipped cream and hot fudge.

"Oh, we didn't stop there." She grinned mischievously. "We pulled out all of the stops- I'm talking about sprinkles, caramel sauce, butterscotch sauce, chocolate chips, gummy bears and basically all of the toppings we could get!"

"And they just sat there?" John asked incredulously.

"Well, they sat there until we started dropping spoonfuls of ice cream down their backs. They ran for the lake, but they forgot that they were in front of the Jello slip and slide so they slid all the way into the water!" She laughed and showed him a shaky video of these two guys covered in toppings sliding down a hill into a lake below.

He grinned as he sipped his coffee, wondering how she could have such innocent fun, whereas the most fun he'd had was when he and Sherlock were tracking down serial killers- stuff he was sure Mary wouldn't like hearing at all.

That had been their most recent date, two days ago, and John looked back on it smiling, and pulled out his phone as he entered the house, and at his new background- a picture they'd taken together when the sun came out that day. The sun was casting rays over both of their faces as they'd squished together, laughing as John had held out the camera.

"Oi, what the-" He snatched the note off of his head, grumbling something not exactly polite about stupid mystery letters messing up his hair.

_Don't_ was the new message. With an air of annoyance about him, John huffed up to his room and slapped the note on the cardboard.

"Seriously, just give me the rest of the letter already. It shouldn't take," He paused, counting on his fingers silently, "Eight months to send me a letter. I mean I'm getting longer texts from you." He told the notes words stared back at him, burning into his brain.

"_John, Notice everything. Get rid of the assassins (next door). Don't"_ was all he had after eight months of mystery and being in the dark.

"What's the point of all this?" He asked aloud, and two seconds later, his phone buzzed. Expecting it to be work or Mary, he opened up the text quickly.

From: Unknown

_I'm getting there. You're no fun_

"Good God." He growled, before tossing himself on his bed, determined to sleep away his frustration.

* * *

**We already got our tree at my house… On Saturday… Yeah, My family is ****_that _****family. **

**Question: Favorite breakfast food? I love making what I call "Churro English Muffins". English Muffin + Butter+ Cinnamon and Sugar. De-freakin'-LICIOUS**

**Please review! **

**BYENOW!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: FanFiction was being weird a couple minutes. I had to keep reloading this page until I got the Copy-N-Past format open :P Anyway, I meant to post this yesterday, but I got really excited about the second chapter and posted that instead, and then forgot about this. Sorry. **

**This is one of those "longer" ones. By longer, I mean long by the standards of this story. And I used a swear word. O.O Bad Caitlyn, feel free to shun me.**

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

October 3rd

"You know, I never really liked Chinese food until I became an adult." Mary commented, taking a bite of her chicken lo mein.

John raised his eyebrows from across the kitchen table. They had ordered Chinese food once they both realized that they just wanted to stay in that night. "Really?"

"Yeah. I just thought it tasted weird, I don't really know why. But after I left university I just started liking it. It was really weird." She shrugged and tried to grasp more noodles with her chopsticks. "Okay, this is impossible." She got up and grabbed a fork from a drawer. "I don't know how you do that." The blonde woman gestured to John's rice, which he was managing to eat quite easily with his chopsticks.

"Well, I've had more practice. See, I liked Chinese food as a kid." He smirked. Mary rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same and went back to her Lo Mein.

"This was nice." John commented as he walked Mary down the stairs. "Although I don't think that lo mein is sitting well with me."

"Well that's what you get for stealing." She informed him matter-of-factly. He smiled and leaned down to kiss her. As though it were normal. As though they'd kissed before.

It was a sweet kiss, nothing he wanted to go into detail about- some parts of his life should be kept private from you snoops ;)

So that happened. And Jawn- er, John, was a very happy doctor. He didn't even care that somehow, in the minute that it took for him to walk Mary to her car, the stranger got into and out of his apartment without being noticed by him.

So he didn't stop smiling when he realized that it wasn't the 21st. Or the fact that the note cryptically read _lose_

It was only when he fell into bed that he started wondering. Don't lose what? His mind? Too late.

Sometime after midnight he fell into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning until all of his covers were laying disheveled on the floor.

He was having a nightmare, something in the back of his mind told him. But how could it be a dream? He felt the wind on his face, the deep pit in his stomach as he looked at the cement sidewalk many stories below him. He looked further out and saw a taxi pull up, and none other that Sherlock jumped out, staring straight at him. John tried to move off the ledge, tried to call out to his best friend, but he couldn't move. His feet were stuck to the edge, just bordering balance and falling. His mouth was cemented shut, his vocal chords nonexistent.

"John! Don't do it! Don't jump!" Sherlock called out, sounding strangely panicked- but Sherlock was never panicked. But _damn,_ even in this nightmare, it was good to hear Sherlock's voice, a sound he hadn't heard in almost a year.

_Well obviously I don't _want_ to jump, you numbskull_. John tried to say, but his words still couldn't find their way from his brain to his mouth.

"John! Just get down from there!" How did Sherlock's voice get louder? The black-haired man was still on the street, staring at John as though his feet were also rooted to the spot.

"I- I can't!" John finally hollered, his voice returning, about ten times louder than normal.

"John, just move. Just do it!" His friend pleaded.

It was too much, John realized. He understood the dream. He was in Sherlock's place. He knew what had to happen. And it was too much to watch his best friend stare up at him, begging him not to fall. Sherlock Holmes was dead, that much John knew. And that in itself was too much. So he did the only thing he could do. He fell forward, the cement sidewalk getting closer and closer until...

"Oof!" John jerked awake, finding himself on a pile of blankets on the floor. He touched his face and found it wet.

"God, Sherlock. You piss me off even when you're dead." He murmured to himself, as if Sherlock could hear him. As if he weren't dead.

* * *

**Go ahead, throw tomatoes at me. I deserve it :( Wait- don't do that, I just took a shower. Throw tomatoes at me later.**

**Question: What's your favorite vegetable? (Courtesy of my friend)**

**BYENOW!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Here's the next itty bitty drabble. It's wicked short. So sorry. Much excite. Very doge. Too much sugar.**

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

October 15th

"I gotta head out." John said reluctantly, and all five of the guys at his table groaned. He'd gone out for a drink with some buddies from work, and as it was nearing midnight, he realized he'd need at least six hours of sleep before work tomorrow.

"Fine, Grandma, leave us here, all by out lonesomes." Jack put on his most dramatic face as John gathered his coat and things.

"What are we supposed to do with this one anyway?" Another friend of his, Mark, gestured with his thumb to Paul, who happened to be sitting right next to him, and chose that moment to punch Mark in the arm.

"'l'll leave you two ladies alone." John quipped as he shrugged into his coat. "Later, mates."

The ex-army doctor faintly smiled as he hailed a taxi. It felt good to just go out and enjoy himself with more than two people, or people over 60. He was nearly normal.

Of course, that thought was shattered like glass when he opened the door to his flat and caught sight of a sticky note dropping from the top of the door. He stooped to pick it up, expecting something like the word "The" or "a" which would require him to actually wait longer for the next obnoxiously cryptic message.

He was note expecting the abstract word _hope._

"Don't lose hope?" He asked aloud. The man rubbed his eyes. The more of these he got, the more confusing they became, and the darker the circles under his eyes became. He would allow himself one more emotion before sleeping. Anger.

But as he brought the lighter closer and closer to the tiny note, he realized he couldn't burn it- or any of the other notes. They reminded him of good times, as well as the bad. He just had to take it in stride.

* * *

**WHAT? I GAVE JOHN FRIENDS? Surprise! Also, for those of you who are curious, the notes have added up to this: "John, notice everything. Get rid of the assassins (next door). Don't lose hope." Eleven chapters to go!**

**Question: Grapes or raisins? I prefer grapes. Raisins are like grandpa grapes.**

**BYENOW!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Okay, I have to say this RIGHT NOW to my English (England) readers: Please. Please, for the love of all that is holy (which is basically anything Moffat has touched) DO NOT tell me in 3 days how Sherlock did it, or what John did, or anything that happens in this season. I'm American, and as much as I want to know what happens, I want to see it for myself, and that can't happen until, like, four or five weeks from now :( Thank you for sparing my sanity. I love you all.**

**This is another short one. Basically, they're all gonna be pretty short unless I have something big and important going on, which I think will only be in a few chapters, like when John met Mary, that was important, so it was long. Anyway, there are only ten chapters left! EEP!**

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

November 21st

"Be?" John looked in utter shock at the latest word in the string of notes. It had nearly fallen into his cup of tea as he opened to door, ready to get the mail and spend a restful day at home. A therapeutic day. He and Mary had had an argument the night before, and John needed at least day to cool off before facing her again, and he assumed she did too.

But he thought the most recent note, hope, had been the last one he'd ever get from the stranger. In fact, that had been the epitome of his and Mary's fight. He thought back to the night before.

He'd been distracted, trying to figure out whether or not the stranger would ever send him a note again, as it had been over a month since his last note. Mary asked what was wrong, so John decided to tell her the entire story, beginning with Sherlock's death and ending with the most recent note. By the time he finished, his mouth was as dry as parchment paper, and his hands were shaking as all of his emotions swirled around in his head like some big soup, everything mixed together.

"And you never told me about it?" Mary asked, hurt and annoyance creeping into her voice. "I could've helped you- we could have gone to the police!"

"Sherlock worked with the police so I wasn't on very good terms with them when it began, and then it just kinda slipped my mind." John explained patiently, quietly.

"And you didn't tell me because...?" Yep, that was definitely annoyance in her tone.

"You would have thought I was crazy." He murmured, realizing that was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words escaped his lips.

"No. No way. I decide what I think is crazy. Not you. You don't decide for me. In fact, I think you're crazy for not telling me about it sooner!"

And the fight escalated until Mary stormed out of the flat, slamming the door so hard the skull on the mantle nearly crashed to the floor, but John saved it just in time, and then quickly placed it back onto the mantle, more than uncomfortable with touching the human skull after months of not even looking at it.

"Be... Be what? Brave? Patient?" Back in the present, John paused and took a contemplative sip of his tea, trying to figure out the purpose of the note aloud.

Even if that wasn't the message, the singular word helped him make a choice. He'd be good, and brave, and call Mary. They would figure things out. He had a good feeling about it.

* * *

**So? How's it coming along so far?**

**QUESTION: How much do you love croissants? Because they are my favorites.**

**BYENOW!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hello, dearies! Sorry I haven't posted in forever- the last week of school before break- always crazy! I'm back now in time for the holidays, and I bring you a short, abrupt version of something that could be longer, but I'll keep short and abrupt due to the nature of this story… and, y'know, John's life. Not that he's dying, just… oh, just read.**

**Happy Holidays! Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

December 21st

"Anything catching your eye today, sir?" The saleslady asked from behind the counter.

John jumped, slightly startled. "Ah, no, sorry, I'll just... uhm..." He stared hard at the rings glittering from behind the glass, wondering why his feet had brought him there. After he and Mary had reconciled a month ago, things had continued along in their relationship smoothly, and John found himself falling for her further and further, opening up to her in ways he had been afraid to before. He told her all about the war, the entire story of his short but meaningful year-and-a-half with Sherlock, chocking on the man's name every time he mentioned it.

Mary told him about her family, her father's drinking problem, which John could connect to because of Harry. It was an easier, more open feeling than before, which was ironic, as their relationship had already been mostly honest.

So why was he looking at _rings_? He wondered to 'd known this girl for little more than four months. Rings were jumping the gun. A nice necklace would do perhaps, or a bracelet. Just not a ring.

"I just want to hope." He murmured to himself. Then he turned around and left.

"Hullo, Mrs. Hudson!" John greeted the landlady warmly. She looked up from dusting the banister.

"Well, hello, John. You're in an awfully good mood today. Any particular reason?" She asked, raising her eyebrows knowingly.

He chuckled. "No, no, nothing of that sort. I'm just happy. Don't want to kill my mood with 'reason'" He declared, starting up the stairs. And he really meant it.

But, of course, there was always something to ruin a person's mood. For John, it was those notes. And today was a note-day.

"Why am I not surprised?" John muttered, slightly annoyed as he stooped low to the ground to pick it up, taking a breath and reminding himself not to get pissed at whatever cryptic word was waiting for him that day.

_happy._ "Happy? Be happy?" John asked incredulously, beginning to pace, a habit he'd picked up over the months. "Be happy... Be happy..." He paused in his musing in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection, hard.

The man looking back at him had faint smile lines at the corner of his eyes, but more prominent on his face were the stress lines on his forehead. He touched them, as if he hadn't noticed the creases, signifying his unhappiness, had appeared. And in a way, he hadn't. He'd been so wrapped up in his own mystery, he hadn't noticed what he even looked like. The notes, he realized, were slowly destroying him.

"Fine. Fine!" He threw his hands in the air. "I'll be happy if you just leave me alone!" And with that, he put the note with all of the others, tossed an old blanket over the piece of cardboard where they had resided, taunting him for months, and shoved it deep in his closet, done with the whole thing- but not done enough to toss them out. The notes, destructive, cryptic, and frustrating, also got him back on his feet. But now it was time to stop playing, and let go.

"It's time to move on." And with that, he got on his laptop, pulled up a real estate page, and started looking for a new flat.

* * *

**I obviously didn't plan that...**

**Question: Chocolate or vanilla ice cream?**

**BYENOW!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I realize I've kinda slacked on updating here, and I feel really bad. I feel like my two longfics are my children, and I feel guilty about paying more attention to Ever After. Actually, I should blame Netflix and Tumblr. I meant to post this hours ago today and then I realized Sherlock s3 ep 2 was out and then there was the Tumblr aftermath, so...**

**Anyway, I'd like to thank The Academy- er, all of you guys- for reading, reviewing and favoriting this story. Seriously. Confession: After I post a chapter, I check my mail obsessively to see if I got any sort of favorite or follow or review. So, every time I see one of those, my heart swells and I fangirl out. So, thank you. And Happy New Year! (But Caitlyn, what did you think about the new episode?) I'll tell you down at the end. This isn't canon with S3 Ep1 at all. The only thing is that this takes place 9 months after the last chapter, and John and Mary are engaged and living together in the new flat.**

**Enjoy!**

**~Caitlyn**

* * *

September 1st

"Mary, if the kettle goes off, can you get it please?" John called into the living room, where Mary was currently engrossed in a Supernatural marathon on the telly.

"Why can't you get it yourself?" She asked, her eyes never leaving the screen.

John poked his head into the living room just in time to witness something explode into bloody chunks on the show. Mary didn't even bat an eye. "How can you watch this stuff?" He shook his head in confusion.

"You get used to this. Shh." Mary flapped her hand in her fiancé's general direction, telling him to shut up.

John sighed. "I'm taking a shower, just please get the kettle if it goes off while I'm gone."

"Fine, fine."

Before heading into the shower though, John peeked into his closet. Of course, the piece of cardboard covered in the sticky notes had followed him to the new flat and had been sitting quietly behind boxes and jackets, in the darkest corner of the closet. He hadn't though about the notes in months, ever since he proposed to Mary, but now he felt oddly drawn to them. He pulled it out from behind the dusty boxes and re-examined the notes for the first time in almost a year. Nothing struck him as new or odd. John shook his head at his own silliness. Of course there would be nothing new. Ever since he moved, he hadn't gotten any more notes. And he was rather glad.

"Wait, so Sam and Dean have to find what killed their mum? What about their dad? Where is he?" John demanded as the credits rolled. Mary had decided to show him the first episode of Supernatural to see how he would react. Of course, John was hooked.

Mary just chuckled as his intensity. "I knew you'd like it." She took another sip of her tea before setting it down on the coffee table next to John's.

"Next episode?" He suggested, reaching for the remote.

Mary snatched it up and held it up in the air. "I think I should let it sink in before you- aah!" Her teasing was cut off by John tickling her under the arm. "John! No, stop!" She cried through giggles. He eventually gained control of the remote and hit PLAY.

"That's better." He decided, and Mary mock-glared at him.

"I let you win."

"I'm sure you did."

John put on his coat, ready to head out to work. Mary was already gone, and the only sound he heard was the rush of traffic down below, millions of people rushing to get to wherever they needed to be. unwilling to stop for any reason. A normal day. That was true, until, he opened the door.

And a note descended down to the floor in front of him.

John didn't know how to react. It had been almost a year. Was it from their landlord? No, this was the same kind of sticky note that the blasted notes had been written on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, John bent over and picked up the note. One word was printed on its surface, and appeared to be typed on a typewriter. The word was _Don't_

"Not again." John groaned, turning to bang his head on the doorframe. "Not. A. Gain."

* * *

**Fabulous. (That's my new absolute favorite word. I've literally said it ten times jut today)**

**My opinion of The Empty Hearse: I absolutely loved it! I love Mary, and how she keeps up with John and Sherlock so well. I loved John's reaction to Sherlock's return, and Sherlock dressing up with the glasses and the mustache, and all of the mustache jokes that followed. It was a beautiful episode. And yes, I am an American, who technically can't watch the episode until the 19th. But I think everyone in America who wanted to watch it figured out how to watch it.**

**Question: Fruity gum, minty gum, or other? (I prefer mint)**

**BYENOW!**


End file.
